


Prejudices of a Young Mind

by bhaer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: Canon Era, Discussion of the rights of women under the law, Gen, Jane Austen Mania, Les Amis Book Club!, Les Amis are Big Dumb Butts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhaer/pseuds/bhaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis read Jane Austen. Silliness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prejudices of a Young Mind

Sunday mornings at the Musain were as peaceful as the Musain could be, within reason. Louison enforced a strict limit on loud noises as a vast majority of the customers had ventured inside only to nurse their hangovers and swap stories from their nights.

Courfeyrac and Bahorel were doing just that, slumped over the table and muttering in shaky voices that that was the last time.

“I’m too old for this. My body is deteriorating, more everyday. Another night like last and I’m afraid you’ll find me dead in my bed.” Courfeyrac was moaning. Enjolras, reading a newspaper and looking like the only one who had washed since the night before, rolled his eyes in an uncharacteristic show of juvenile frustration.

“ _You’re_ too old?” Bahorel cried. He was not nearly as theatrical as Courfeyrac and had therefore managed to sit up and drink coffee. Courfeyrac had his head on the table and claimed any liquid would finish him off.

“I do not have your constitution. I’m sickly, always have been.” Courfeyrac said.

“Your pulse is actually rather strong.” Joly said, leaning over the huddled mass to hold Courfeyrac’s limp wrist.

“That’s because I’m sure I’m feverish. I feel like my insides have been trampled by… by... wolves.”

“That’s an interesting metaphor.” Jehan remarked from the corner where he was composing an ode to absinthe.

“You don’t feel feverish but if you feel that sick, I can bleed you later.” Joly mused. Courfeyrac leaped away from his cold hands in a surprising display of agility from one so ill.

“You’ll do no such thing!” he yelped. Joly shrugged.

“A miraculous recovery. Have a coffee, man, you look like hell.” Bahorel said snidely.

“I feel like hell. I am hell. This is hell.” Courfeyrac cried.

“Again with the metaphors. You’re very poetic this morning.” Jehan said happily.

“You just haven’t washed yet and your hair's all mussed up. You’ll look a million times better after you change your clothes.” Bousset said cheerfully. He was nursing his own hangover with Grantaire, who had not stopped drinking long enough to feel any effect.

“I will later. Combeferre, I believe my favorite waistcoat in somewhere on your floor. I don’t remember why but I’m sure there’s a good reason.” Courfeyrac called to the figure in the corner, engrossed in a book.

“You always take your clothes off when you’re drunk.” Joly muttered disapprovingly.

“Don’t restrain his passions.” Jehan cried.

“Please, restrain them more often.” Bahorel said.

Courfeyrac stuck out his lower lip.

“I can hardly control myself in the state I was in last night. Now, Combeferre, do you have my favorite waistcoat with the roses? Combeferre?” There was no response from the corner.

“He’s not listening.” Grantaire offered helpfully as he poured Bousset another glass of wine.

Taking care not to raise his voice and ensure Louison’s wrath, Courfeyrac carefully picked up a piece of paper discarded by Jehan, covered in crossed-out verses and balled it up in his hands. Aiming like a true sportman, he threw it at Combeferre. Combeferre took a moment to acknowledge the impact.

“Is something on fire? Are we being raided by the National Guard? Has Joly contracted cholera?” Combeferre asked calmly.

“Worse, I’ve lost my best waistcoat at your apartment.” Courfeyrac cried. Combeferre gave him a withering look and returned to his book.

“What on earth are you reading? It’s drawing your attention away from me so I can only assume it’s something interesting indeed.” Courfeyrac called. He stood up (and swayed dramatically as he did) and stomped over to Combeferre’s corner, grabbing the book out of his hands.

“Don’t lose my place.” Combeferre muttered as Courfeyrac held the book menacingly.

“ _La Famille Elliot_ by a certain Madame Austen.” Courfeyrac read to the group. He laughed heartily at it.

“Why Combeferre, this is the kind of trash I normally read! I’m thoroughly ashamed of your taste. I expected some medical journal, or a historical epic at the very least.” Combeferre snatched the book back, glowering.

“My mistress suggested I’d be interested in Madame Austen’s writing of the subconscious and the way _poor friends_ can lead us to make _poor choices_.” Combeferre muttered, eyeing Courfeyrac and Bahorel, who was laughing into his fists.

“Unless I’m terribly wrong, these tracts are meant for a young female audience.” Joly said thoughtfully.

“And why does that diminish their value?” Combeferre snapped.

“It just doesn’t seem like something you’d read.” Courfeyrac said, eager to calm Combeferre’s apparent poor mood (possibly caused by a hangover equal to or exceeding Courfeyrac’s own).

“This novel is a fascinating glimpse into a young lady’s psychological processes through the use of indirect free discourse and I’m not ashamed to be thoroughly enjoying it. _La Famille Elliot_ intrigues me from an academic standpoint as well as from a literary interest.” Combeferre said. Joly seemed to shrink into the shadows. Combeferre was merry enough except if one touched on one of his pet annoyances. If enraged, his verbal attacks were fearsome. Courfeyrac hoped desperately this wasn’t one of those times.

"I agree. _Orgueil Et Prejuges_ had me in raptures. I cried so bitterly over dear Elizabeth Bennet that I couldn’t see straight for a week.” Jehan said fondly

“Besides, these novels have serious social implications as well,” Combeferre cried (Courfeyrac begged the God he only sort-of believed in not to allow this become another one of Combeferre’s Righteous Anger Speeches). “Imagine a young lady, born in wealth and privilege but still without liberty as she must chose whether to sacrifice her family’s finances or her own self-worth by marrying one she does not love. What kind of good will we accomplish if women are still sold like cattle to the highest bidder, valued only for their ability to bear children and not for their intellect and innate value as human beings?”

“So you have read _Orgueil Et Prejuges_!” Jehan cried. “You must tell me what you thought of Charlotte Lucas.”

“Charlotte Lucas’ story was a tragedy, but only one of thousands. Mademoiselle Lucas reacted to her circumstances rationally. How repulsive that we live in a world where behaving rationally means to marry an imbecile if one is unlucky enough to be born female!” Combeferre said sternly.

Courfeyrac audibly groaned. Combeferre pushed his spectacles farther up his nose and focused Courfeyrac with a withering look.

“I don’t understand how you can be smug about this. Haven’t you read the Wollstonecraft I leant you?” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac muttered something about schoolwork and family obligations.

“I recommend reading Wollstonecraft in conjunction with Austen. I’ve been able to get my hands on _Raison et Sensibilité_ , perhaps you’d like to read it with me?” Combeferre asked, eyebrows raised.

“I like my novels senseless and lurid but I’ll pick up a copy next week. I do hope you haven’t fallen for any heroines.” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. Combeferre colored.

“I wouldn’t recommend the English versions. They’re so unfeeling and bland, but I suppose that's the English language. French has improved Madame Austen infinitely.” Jehan offered.

“I suppose I’ll buy a copy as well.” Enjolras said. Courfeyrac looked with surprise as his friend folded down his newspaper with resolve.

“I didn’t think you read novels.” Combeferre said curiously.

“If these stories have the social consciousness you say they do, perhaps it will be worth the time. Besides, this one apparently has you in raptures.” Enjolras said simply, looking very dignified as he picked up Combeferre’s _La Famille Elliot_ and thumbed through it.

“Musichetta has Madame Austen’s whole collection, though she won’t lend me anything since I spilt tea on her _Macbeth_.” Joly complained loudly.

“I expect to enjoy this thoroughly so I don’t know if I’ll be particularly touched by any plights of poor English girls.” Courfeyrac said.

“You have no heart. Lydia Bennet’s sad story is equal to Dido’s.” Jehan said.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I have a heart for things I see in front of me. I’m afraid I’ve read too many romances to be sensitive to fictional stories.” He said.

 

Two weeks later, he was sniffling into his sleeve in the Corinthe.

“The medical field has failed Mademoiselle Dashwood. This is why I always warn you not to go tramping through the rain.” Joly said, shooting Jehan a dirty look.

“The legal injustice, though.” Enjolras was muttering as he read.

“I don’t know if the legal system has failed Elinor and Marianne, or simply that awful Fanny.” Bousset mused, leaning over Joly’s shoulder.

“But why couldn’t they inherit Norland!?” Enjolras cried.

“I do hope Marianne doesn’t die.” Courfeyrac said weakly.

“If the fever has control of her lungs, a good outcome is unlikely.” Joly offered helpfully.

“I blame Monsieur Willoughby.” Jehan said with an aggressive glare towards his book.

“I blame Marianne for walking out in the rain but I agree Enjolras that there’s been a great miscarriage of justice. Any country that denies its citizens their rightful property on the basis of sex cannot be just.” Combeferre said. He was farthest through and was concentrating intently.

“I must write a pamphlet about this. I shall visit the printer tomorrow.” Enjolras said.

“How are you all so unfeeling?” Courfeyrac cried as snot dripped down his nose. “Marianne is _heartbroken_. The one she loves has abandoned her. She is dying as much from that as any cold.” Jehan clapped but Combeferre frowned.

“I actually think the pleurisy is perhaps the more pressing concern to Marianne’s health.” He said dryly.

“You must all promise me not to go out in the rain again.” Joly said.

“ _I_ would had _I_ been abandoned like Marianne.” Courfeyrac cried.

“Entails are surely monstrous things.” Enjolras said dreamily to himself, in a haze of internal revolutionary fervor. 

“If you hate entails, you should read _Orgueil Et Prejuges_ next.” Jehan said, happy the group shared his enthusiasms for once.

“Your mistress has a keen revolutionary mind.” Enjolras told Combeferre. Combeferre smiled to himself.

“She does, though she wishes Madame Austen was more explicit about the… nightly activities of her married couples.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to imagine John and Fanny having sex. That’s revolting.” Jehan cried.

“Oh Lord, Willoughby has come to see Marianne.” Courfeyrac screeched, earning him a few odd looks from other tables.

“Don’t tell me what happens, I’m a chapter behind you!” Joly begged, smacking away Bousset’s hand from prematurely turning the page.

“I will absolutely _faint_ if he tries to propose now.” Courfeyrac announced.

“I’ll fetch you some water.” Grantaire said. He was not reading, saying he preferred works written before the middle ages and was instead watching the group emote with interest.

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened and he dropped the book, his hands clamped over his mouth.

“What is it?” Enjolras asked in a carefully controlled voice though his frown showed his worry.

“I cannot tell you. It’s too revolting.” Courfeyrac said, his head in his hands.

“If Marianne’s dead, don’t be upset. Dying for love is noble.” Jehan said cheerfully.

“Dying for Willoughby is just silly.” Joly said, frowning. Jehan shot him a dirty look.

“I suppose it would be better, morally, to show Marianne dead from her passions under the weight of an unjust, oppressive society.” Enjolras mused.

“Don’t you _dare_.” Courfeyrac cried.

“Poor Elinor.” Combeferre sighed to himself.

“I retract my original statement. I dislike Austen not because she’s bad but because I don’t think my heart can handle another of these novels.” Courfeyrac muttered.

Joly agreed but the next week they were back, this time with _Orgueil Et Prejuges_. By the time they worked their way to _Emma_ , Bahorel had taken to loudly discussing what he'd do to Mister Wickham if he ever found him and if incited, Enjolras could speak for ten minutes straight about the legal rights of women without pausing for breath. Grantaire even picked up _Emma_ and, a little misty eyed, said that it was certainly sad how Madamosielle Smith loved one who's affections lay elsewhere.

Combeferre watched smugly.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Jane Austen's works were translated into French by a certain Isabelle de Montolieu, who wasn't a very good translator. She rewrote much of the novels into a style more similar to the French sentimental novel than Austen's signature dry humor. Thus why Jehan prefers the French versions and Courfeyrac associates Austen with Romances.  
> 2\. Perhaps the best preserved of the translations was Persuasion (or La Famille Elliot) which kept Austen's indirect free discourse in Anne Eliot's narration.  
> 3\. The title is taken from a quote in Sense and Sensibility: "There is something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions."  
> 4\. I just really love Jane Austen, okay.


End file.
